Everything's Bigger in Texas
by Amory Sparkly Bat
Summary: When Peter and Neal are forced to go undercover in Texas, they discover what it's really like to be 'hot' on somebody's trail! Cowboy up, gentlemen! Oh, and nice bolo tie you've got there. **Written by a proud Texan, born and raised! ;)**


**Title:** Everything's Bigger in Texas  
**Author:** Amory Puck (**pucktheplayer**)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings:** mild language  
**Pairings: **none, gen

**Author's Notes: **The episode Power Play has always kind of amused me, because growing up in the Dallas/Fort Worth area of Texas, we get that kind of heat every year. Yeah, okay, 99% of places down here have central air which makes a major difference, but we still have homeless people and poor people who can't afford A/C and somehow they survive without going into a panic or costing the city 'millions of dollars.' People don't bathe in public fountains just because it's 110 degrees out. Also, when Neal plays the Texas oil tycoon in Season 3 with his bolo tie, I nearly died. Surely a con as good as Neal Caffrey can't think that's what Texans wear? Even our proud rednecks don't wear string ties! Ballcaps and boots are more up their alley. So, I cooked up a little story where the boys visit my beloved Lone Star State and learn a few lessons!

o o o

**Everything's Bigger in Texas**

o o o

"Texas," Neal said flatly as he stared down at the file in his hands. "Mark Giles wants me to come to Texas."

"Apparently he only makes deals on his ranch outside Dallas," Peter said with a shrug.

"How very George W. Bush of him," Neal muttered as he studied the picture of the middle aged, balding real estate tycoon. "Are we actually going?"

"We need to catch him in the act," Peter replied. "We don't have enough to take him down, otherwise. Unless he states right out that the original property owners' deaths were in direct connection to sales leading to the the foreclosures, all we have is circumstantial evidence that hints at a plot thick enough to deserve a spot on 'Law and Order.'"

"Wow, okay," Neal said slowly. "So Texas it is, then? I guess I'd better pack."

"Do you have anything to wear?" Peter questioned, rather excited by the idea. He loved old Westerns, and Dallas had been one of his favorite shows. "I mean, I know you've played the Texas oil tycoon before. You think you can blend in?"

"I don't have to blend in," Neal said with a shrug. "He knows I'm from New York. You're the one who piped up and said you were born amongst the prairie dogs. Want to borrow my bolo tie?

A grin spread across Peter's face. "Oh yeah. Man, this is gonna be awesome. I've always wanted to be a cowboy."

o o o

"Okay, this isn't quite as wild, wild west as I expected," Peter said as he glanced around the airport, seeing no signs of cowboy hats anywhere. Well, except for the one he was wearing, of course. There was also a distinct lack of large, shiny belt buckles and little string bolo ties. This was… awkward.

"Hey, I'm sure once we get out of the airport you'll feel it," Neal said, his lip twitching ever so slightly in a way that made Peter wonder if Neal was silently laughing at him.

"You think so?" Peter said, brow furrowing as he scanned once more for cowboy hats. The closest he came were several people wearing blue baseball caps with a big star on them and the word 'Cowboys.' Not exactly the John Wayne look he'd expected.

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Neal said, flashing him a smile. "This is Dallas, after all, home of short shorts and big Stetsons."

Peter nodded. Neal was right, of course. An airport was much too diverse to get a real look at Texas. Once they got out of here, it would be Southern hospitality the whole way. Maybe they'd even have a chance to take a trail ride before they left. Peter was rather proud of his skills on horseback. He'd gotten a lot of good practice in the year he and El had gone to that dude ranch in Colorado for vacation.

o o o

"Oh my God," Neal said, grabbing at his collar the moment they stepped out of the door. "Oh my God, it's so hot."

"Damn," Peter said, sweat already beginning to trickle down his face, despite having just stepped out of the chilly airport. "They must be having a serious heat wave." He looked around, raising his eyebrows as dozens of people milled about lazily, not a single person dumping water over their heads or fighting for a spot in the shade.

"God, it's like being back in that summer when we were having all those power outages," Neal said, loosening the knot on his tie and unbuttoning his collar. "Do you think hair wax can melt?"

"I don't know," Peter said, trying to fan himself with his luggage stub, "but let's get a cab, fast. I feel like I'm about to drop." He grabbed his suitcase, making for the line of taxis waiting along the sidewalk. Peter grimaced as he opened the door, expecting it to be an absolute sauna inside, but was pleasantly surprised by a cold blast of air. Apparently cabbies down here weren't as skimpy about using the A/C as they were up North.

"Man, the weather is unbelievable," Neal moaned as he climbed in beside Peter, and the cabbie looked back, grinning widely at them.

"I know, right? Thank God for the cool front."

Peter stared at the man in disbelief. "Excuse me, did you say 'cool front'?"

The cabbie laughed. "Yup. Three straight days with a high of ninety-six in the middle of August? Lovin' it, man. They say it's gonna be back up in three digits by tomorrow, though."

"Oh my God," Neal murmured, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I so did not pack for this."

o o o

The people of Dallas were freaking unbelievable. The sun was hot enough to melt you, and not a single person was dipping their toes in the fountain outside the hotel or carrying an umbrella to block the rays. Peter also hadn't seen any horses yet, which was pretty disappointing. He supposed there were probably some laws about having them in the middle of the city, though. It made sense that in an urban center like Dallas, people would use cars. Hopefully when they got to the ranch, they'd get a chance to ride the studs.

The rush of cool air as they entered the hotel lobby was like heaven, and Peter let out a sigh of relief. His shirt was soaked through with sweat just from walking a few blocks toting their luggage.

"Howdy, m'am," Peter said as they approached the desk, flashing what he hoped was a cowboyish grin. He'd spent about an hour practicing it in the mirror the night before. "My pardner here and I are lookin' to get a room. With central air, if ya have one available."

The girl behind the desk gave him a weird look. "What do you mean, with central air?"

Neal flashed his best smile. "He means we're not interested in a room with a window unit. For this weather, we'd prefer central air conditioning."

"Uh, I'm not really sure what a window unit is. All our rooms are air conditioned, sir." The tone of her voice made it clear there was a silent 'duh' at the end of that sentence. She began to type on the computer. "You want a king?"

Peter blinked. "What? Why would we want a king?"

The girl looked up at him, then glanced pointedly over at Neal, smacking her gum. "Sorry, but we don't have single queens available. If you and your partner want to share, you're going to have to get a king."

Neal made a choked sound, and Peter blinked as he processed the words, his face going red as he realized what she meant.

"What? No, no, he's not my partner like that… I just meant, you know, my 'parder.'" He accented the word heavily, which apparently didn't do much for the check in girl, because she just stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Right. Your partner," she said, frowning slightly. "So you want two queens, then?"

"Yes," Neal said, looking like he was trying not to laugh. "We'd like two queens, thank you."

Oh man, talk about embarrassing. Had the girl really thought they were gay? This was Texas. Didn't they shoot gay people on sight?

Peter pulled out his wallet, handing her his company card. "Oh, and do you maybe have some pamphlets of, you know, the local sights? Maybe a rodeo or something like that?"

Neal made a soft sound of amusement, and the girl raised an eyebrow. "Um, I don't think there are any rodeos going on right now. I mean, there aren't usually many rodeos in Dallas, anyway, though sometimes they have them in Fort Worth. It's, like, a couple times a year thing, though. I do have some pamphlets, though."

The girl reached under the desk and pulled out a small stack of pamphlets, fishing through them. "Let's see, Dallas Museum of Art, the World Aquarium, the Botanical Gardens, Six Flags, Hurricane Harbor, hm… Oh, here's one you might like." She set down the pamphlet in front of them and Peter choked as he looked down at the glossy picture of two men kissing in the middle of what looked like a pride parade, rainbows painted across their bare chests.

'Welcome to Gay Dallas, boasting the sixth largest LGBT community in America! Visit the Cathedral of Hope, the country's largest LGBT church and Oak Lawn, where homosexual nightlife has thrived for over thirty years!'

"Thank you so much," Neal said hurriedly as Peter continued to gawk at the pamphlet, grabbing the key from the girl with a smile and herding his friend toward the elevators before he passed out. "Have a nice day."

o o o

"She thought we were gay," Peter said in disbelief as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, I guess the combination of our fantastic hats was too much for her," Neal said dryly as he flopped down on the other bed. "Or it might have been how you kept calling me your 'pardner.'"

Peter looked over, glaring at him. "I was just trying to use the common vernacular."

Neal chuckled in amusement. "Well, apparently that particular term has been modernized since the days of the Lone Ranger."

"Seriously, where are all the cowboys?" Peter demanded, a little annoyed. "When we went to Colorado, there were tons of cowboys!"

"It was a dude ranch, Peter," Neal said, shaking his head. "What did you expect? Dallas is an urban center. Did you really think people rode horses to work?"

Peter turned his head to glare at the man. "When you play the oil tycoon, you always talk about your horse Stanley."

"To New Yorkers," he said, rolling his eyes. "Because that's what New Yorkers expect Texan oil tycoons to do. First rule of the con: Give them what they'll believe, not necessarily what's true."

Peter pushed himself up on the bed. "You knew people didn't wear bolo ties down here, didn't you?" he said in an accusatory voice, and Neal gave him wide, innocent eyes. Much too innocent to be real.

"Would I do that?" he asked, and Peter flopped back down on the bed, annoyed.

"I hate you."

"Hey, I've never been to Texas, either, okay?" Neal protested, though Peter could still hear the amusement in his voice. "Maybe people do wear cowboy hats and spurs. We *are* in the middle of the city. Tomorrow we'll go out to Giles' ranch. I bet you'll see some cowboy hats there."

Peter nodded, feeling somewhat bolstered. Neal was right. You couldn't expect cowboys in the middle of the city. Tomorrow they'd be out in the wild lands. There had to be cowboys there. Somebody had to work the cattle, right?

o o o

"Oh my God, it's even hotter than yesterday," Neal choked out. He had ditched his usual coat and tie completely, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Peter had opted to wear another of the Western shirts he'd bought, only minus the bolo tie this time. He'd also ditched the belt buckle, though he was still wearing the tight fitting Wranglers, cowboy boots, and his shiny white Stetson.

"This is really unbelievable," Peter said, shaking his head as he watched the traffic for a cab. "I wonder how many people die every year from the heat?" Sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

"The weather says it's going to top out at 108 degrees today," Neal said, sounding miserable. "Why the hell do people want to live down here?"

Peter jumped as a can full of change was suddenly rattled in his face. An old man with wrinkled, leathery skin, a long gray beard, and several missing teeth grinned up at him.

"God's blessing on you. Spare some change for the homeless?"

"Homeless, huh?" Neal said, raising an eyebrow. "How the hell do you survive in this heat?"

The man's brow wrinkled up even more than it already was, a confused look coming over his face. "It ain't that bad, son. It'll blow over in a month or so, and we'll be back in the low nineties. It ain't like it's gonna kill ya or anything. I just sit under my favorite overpass in the afternoons, get my sleep on, then party on at night."

"Dear God," Peter muttered, pulling out his wallet and dropping a whole twenty dollar bill into his can. "Last time the heat was like this in my city, people were dying right and left."

The old man laughed. "Aw, y'all must be from up North. That's cute. Thank ya, sir. Have a blessed day."

"Wait, there's a taxi!" Neal said, holding out an arm. "And it's empty! Finally!"

Peter stepped forward, more than ready to get out of this scorching sun, then made a sound of annoyance as the cab passed them by, not even slowing down.

"Are y'all trying to get a cab?" a guy Peter recognized as one of the hotel doormen asked.

"Yeah, we are," Peter replied, gritting his teeth. "But they never stop."

"You do know you have to call for a cab service around here, right?" the man said, looking amused. "And they cost a fortune and will only take you places in downtown Dallas. I wouldn't waste my money on them if I were you.

"Seriously? How the hell do people get around?" Neal asked, looking more than a little frustrated.

"Uh, we drive?" the man said, pulling his keys out of his pocket and dangling them as evidence. "I suggest you rent a car. The hotel can get you one. Go talk to reception."

"Thanks," Peter said, wiping at his brow. "We'll do that." If they didn't burn to death first.

o o o

"Merge onto I-30 West in 500 hundred feet," the GPS said in a monotone voice.

"Dammit, how big is this freaking city?" Peter said as he did his best to point the A/C vent directly at his face, really wishing they'd gotten the model without the sunroof.

"I'm pretty sure we're out of Dallas now," Neal replied, studying the map on his cellphone. "I think we're about ten miles from… Fort Worth? I'm not sure, all these cities run together."

"It's like you can drive forever and it never ends!" Peter said, gritting his teeth. "How can it take an entire hour to drive someplace that the rental place called 'not far at all'?"

"Well, it is a big state," Neal said with a shrug. "I guess they have a different definition of 'far.' Man, I'm sure glad I did my crimes in New York. A two mile radius in the Metroplex wouldn't be enough for me to get from my apartment to a McDonald's."

"No wonder people don't ride horses," Peter said with a sigh. "It would take years to get from one side of town to the other. Man, I am ready to get out of the city and see the real Texas."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Neal said dryly. "I'm starting to think that this *is* the real Texas."

o o o

"Wow, this state is really ugly," Neal said as they drove down a seemingly endless farm road, staring out the window at the brown, bush-like trees and dead grass that made up the scenery. "I guess we're a little late in the season for bluebonnets. And whoa, is that river there dry."

"I guess we're a little late in the season for any kind of plant," Peter replied as he glanced out at the barren landscape. "Though considering we passed about five hundred houses when we got lost in that suburban area and there was green grass and healthy trees everywhere, I can guess where the water's gone. And people rag on El and I for wasting water on our tiny little lawn!"

"In half a mile, turn left on Farm Road 687."

"Hey, there are some cows," Neal said, pointing at a group of reddish looking cattle all squashed together under a small canopy of trees.

"Yeah," Peter said, not nearly as excited by the idea as he had been when they'd first gotten off the plane. At this point, he just wanted out of this car.

He turned left, sending gravel flying up off the unpaved road.

"Thank God, we're finally here," Peter said as he caught sight of a giant steel fence with the words 'Cadillac Ranch' in an arc across the top.

"I bet you'll have the chance to see some cowboys now," Neal said, and Peter nodded, forcing himself to look on the bright side.

Neal was right. Sure, it had been a long, hot day and they'd just spent almost three hours in a car driving endlessly. But now he'd get to see a real piece of the Lone Star State, up close and personal, and that was worth the effort, right?

They pulled up to the gates, and Neal lifted his cellphone, presumably to call Giles and get them a ranchhand down here to open it up, but the second they came to a stop the gates began to automatically open by themselves. Wow, that was damn fancy for a ranch.

Peter drove slowly down the curving road, a little excitement growing as some sort of barn appeared in the distance. If there was a barn, there had to be cowboys, right?

Peter squinted into the sun as they drove closer, a small frown appearing on his face at what he saw.

There were no cowboys, but here were dozens of dark skinned, Latino men with baseball caps and boots roaming about. Some were driving old trucks, hauling hay and grain while others used pitch forks to muck up cow crap and others were herding cattle with four wheelers from pen to pen. A few dozen cows lingered in the distance, but there wasn't a horse in sight.

One of the men sort of jumped into the road in front of them, waving his arms, and Peter slammed on the brakes, rolling down the window as he walked up to their car.

"Hola," he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I think maybe you are lost?" His thick Spanish accent made it difficult to decipher the words.

"Um, we're looking for Mark Giles? Peter said. "We have a meeting."

"Ah, yes, Senor Giles, he be up that way," the man said, pointing in the opposite direction they'd been driving.

"Go back to gate, turn right, go straight all the way to casa, eh, house. Senor Giles there."

"Gracias," Neal said, leaning over to smile at the man.

"De nada!" he replied, using the towel hanging around his neck to wipe the sweat off his face.

Peter rolled the window up, a scowl on his face.

So much for cowboys.

o o o

"Welcome, welcome!" Giles said as he opened the door to his enormous ranch house. Actually, ranch house didn't cover it. It was more like a mansion made out of shiny logs, with a grandiose eight foot door and a marble entry way. A good half an acre around it was green and perfectly trimmed with neat flower beds and bushes, like someone had picked the building up out of the suburbs and dumped it in the middle of the ranch.

Giles was dressed in pink plaid pants with a golf shirt, and he had a putter in one hand. "Good to see ya, gentlemen. Come on in!"

"Thanks, Mark," Neal said, flashing him a smile as he walked through the door. "Sure is hot out today."

Giles chuckled. "That's Texas for you. I guess this must seem crazy, y'all coming from the North and all. Can I get you a Coke?"

"Sure, that would be great," Peter said, the short walk from the car to the house more than enough to dehydrate him.

"What can I get ya, sir?" he asked, and Peter frowned.

"What?"

"I said, what do you want," Giles said with a smile. "Sprite, Coke, beer, water, Gatorade?"

"I thought you asked if we wanted Coke?" Peter said, feeling a little confused. "I mean, Coke is fine, but any soda is good."

Giles shook his head, looking amused. "Wow, you've been up North for too long, haven't you, man?"

Peter cleared his throat, not sure what he'd done to earn that comment. "Um, I guess I have been living up there a long time," he agreed.

"Why?" Neal asked. "What makes you say that?"

Giles chuckled. "Son, down here all of what y'all call 'soda' is 'Coke.' Does it feel good to be back home? I always like to conduct business down South, where people are friendly. I swear, up North it feels like people slap ya in the face every time they look at you. I once got yelled at for calling a lady 'm'am.' I told her, where I come from everyone from the First Lady to the checkout girl is a 'm'am,' but she insisted I was callin' her old." He walked over to the wall, hitting a button on a small, black panel. "Maria, could you bring us up a couple of Cokes and some beer? We'll be in the office. Hombre prevenido, vale por dos."

Peter glanced over at Neal, who shrugged, which Peter assumed was code that whatever Giles was saying in fast, practiced Spanish wasn't dangerous.

"Sure thing, Senor Giles," came a woman's tinny voice over the speaker.

"Well, sometimes Northerners can be a little prickly," Peter said, picking up the conversation where the man had left off. "But I've gotten used to it.

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Really? Wow." He paused, frowning. "Hey, what do you think about Jerry Jones? He's doing an awesome job with them Cowboys, isn't he? I bet we're going to be looking at a SuperBowl next year."

Peter licked his lips nervously. Football really wasn't his game and though he was pretty sure he'd heard the name 'Jerry Jones' before, he couldn't place it at the moment.. "Um, yeah," he said, forcing a smile on his face. "You're right. Love that Jerry Jones."

"I guess you're more of a baseball man yourself, though," Giles said with a chuckle. "Nice Yankees watch you have there."

Peter laughed. "Yeah, if there was one thing I got out of my time in New York, it was a love of the Yankees."

Giles reached out, giving him a friendly punch to the shoulder as he set his putter by the door. "If you boys will follow me, I think we have some business to conduct."

o o o

"Thank you, m'am," Giles said as his Hispanic house lady settled down a couple of cans of Coca-Cola and three bottles of Shiner Bock on the man's big desk.

"So, gentlemen, what do you think?"

"I think it looks like a fantastic proposal," Neal said as he scanned the print outs Giles had given them. "There is one thing I need to know before I agree to anything, however."

"What's that?" Giles said, leaning forward and grabbing a beer, taking a sip.

"Well," Neal said, "this is obviously a big investment, and I simply can't go forward without some idea of where these so called 'miracle properties' come from. It's rather lucky, isn't it, that they all turned up so quickly on the market? I mean, it seems lucky. But the thing is, I don't believe in luck."

Giles nodded seriously, little wrinkles appearing around his mouth as he frowned. "You know, Mr. Bryant, I feel the same way."

"So then you understand our circumstances," Peter said, picking up a Coke and taking a sip. Mmm, nice and cold. "I can't justify to my boss here going forward without knowing a little more. He wants to be a true partner." He put extra emphasis on the word 'true.' "We need to establish some kind of trust."

"I agree completely," Giles said with a big smile that morphed into a snarl as he stood abruptly, revealing the disturbingly large gun he must have had on his lap beneath the desk. "Which is why y'all had better start explaining who the hell you are." There was a distinctive clicking sound as he pumped the rifle in his hands, balancing it on his shoulder and pointing it in their direction. "Or I'll blow your brains out and be done with it. You can sure trust that."

Peter sucked in a deep breath, eyes going wide as he held up his hands. "Mark, please, what's going on?"

"What's going on?" he said in a sharp voice. "I'll tell you what's going on. You're a fuckin' liar, that's what's going on. Y'all really thought you'd fool me, sir? If you're from Texas, I'm from goddamn Boston, bring on the Irish coffee! First, that shirt is just ridiculous. I'm pretty sure my grandson wore one just like it last Halloween. Then going around calling Coke 'soda' and thinking Jerry Jones is anything but a complete and total pisspot who deserves a bullet in the head for the way he's fucked up our team? Insane. Cherry on the top, though… A Yankee's fan? This is Texas Rangers territory, for those few who bother watching baseball, and any Yankee fans around here are too scared to wear their loyalties on their wrists like that. You never know what might go down in a sports bar. Maybe I could excuse one, even two, but when it all adds up… I don't know who you are, but you're no Texan. So the question remains. Who are you?"

"Okay, okay," Peter said, heart pounding as Giles sort of waved his gun around. "You're right! You're right! I'm not from Texas. We just said that because we were hoping to win your trust."

"That right? I'm not so sure about that."

Neal glanced over in Peter's direction, then back at Giles, and Peter gave him a short nod, readying himself to go for his gun when Neal went at Giles—

"I wouldn't move if I was you, muneca," came a feminine voice with a heavy Spanish accent.

Peter's eyes widened as he turned to find the barrel of a shotgun in his face. From the way that the tiny little Hispanic woman holding the gun, Peter could tell she knew how to use it.

"Oh, shit," Neal muttered, sweat rolling down his face, and this time it wasn't from the heat.

"See, if you were a real Texan, you'd know better than to lie your way into a man's home," Giles said coldly. "I could shoot you dead right here, and all I'd have to say is that I felt as if my life was threatened, and I'd never see a courtroom. Stand your ground, that's what we say here. This ain't New York City."

"You can't do that," Neal shot back, then turned his head toward Peter, looking a little worried. "He can't do that, can he?"

Peter cleared his throat. "Actually, he probably could."

"Crap," Neal muttered, looking displeased for obvious reasons. "Okay, okay, I'll be honest," he said, holding up his hands as well. Peter could tell his mind was racing. Dear God, let him come up with something good. "The truth is, me and my buddy here were looking to copy your scheme. I lied when I said I had the money to buy in. We just wanted to figure out how you were pulling it off so that we could do it ourselves, somewhere far away from you, obviously."

Peter didn't normally praise Neal's ability to lie like a god, but in this instance he was really, really grateful.

Giles' eyes narrowed, but the barrel of his rifle dropped slightly, and Peter heard the woman behind him take a step back.

"That so?" he said suspiciously. "Because I'll be quite happy to blow one of your balls off if I think you're lying."

Neal grimaced. "I swear, I'm not lying. Yeah, it was a scam, but we didn't mean any harm. Really. We were going to set up shop in California, no where near your business."

Giles stared at them for another long moment, then he lowered his gun, letting it fall to his side. "Okay, say I believe you," he said, voice still suspicious. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't shoot you dead, anyway?"

"Because we can work for you," Neal said, nodding emphatically. "Look, you tell us how things are done, we take it to California, like we planned, and you get, say, twenty-five percent of the profits."

"I want fifty," Giles said shortly, and Neal frowned.

"Thirty-five."

"Forty."

A smile blossomed on Neal's face, and he extended his hand. "You have a deal."

o o o

"Did they get away?" Neal asked as Peter came jogging up to the police cruiser, sweat rolling down his spine.

"Yeah," he said, gasping. "I told them to take the four wheelers. Giles won't be needing them where he's going."

"This is a serious arsenal," Neal said, looking at the dozen or so police vehicles parked all across Giles' overwatered lawn. "I hope they don't catch up to them."

"I seriously doubt they're worried about catching a few illegal immigrants right now," Peter said, taking off his cowboy hat and letting it drop to the ground. He was cooler without it. "Not when they've just arrested one of the richest men in Texas on conspiracy to commit murder charges."

"Yeah, I guess they see plenty of illegal immigrants anyway," Neal said. "How about the maid? Is she going back to Mexico?"

"Nah, it seems she was here legally," Peter replied. "I doubt she'll get any time. She claims that the code Giles passed her meant that someone was in his home to kill him, and that's why she pulled the gun. You don't have to have a permit for guns in Texas, and she lived in the house, so it was legal for her to have it."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," Neal said, looking embarrassed. "I mean, I thought it was weird, but I didn't think it was some sort of secret code. It's just a saying from Mexico."

"What does it mean?" Peter questioned, curious.

"Hombre prevenido, vale por dos. A man forewarned is worth two," Neal said.

"Huh," Peter said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "Man, I am Lone Starred out. It's a million degrees here. I'm ready to get back home."

"I guess being a cowboy wasn't as much fun as you expected?" Neal said in a teasing voice, and Peter laughed.

"Considering that down here 'cowboy' is basically a synonym for 'illegal immigrant from Mexico,' no, it didn't live up to dream." He shook his head. "Seriously, though, I thought that heat wave in 2011 was bad? Can you believe it gets like this every year here?"

"And stays for months," Neal said with a grimace. "Even if everybody does have central air, this still sucks."

"Yeah, I'm tired of being called a wussy for thinking that a hundred degrees is the essence of hot," Peter said. "How can you not think a hundred degrees is out of this world?"

Neal shrugged. "As they say, everything's bigger in Texas. Especially the temperature."

The End!


End file.
